On the back was a bald man wearing glasses.
He asked how far along she was and I said four months.
He went all the way to the ground floor and slipped out the side entrance unobserved.
He didn't sound happy with his explanation, but he was prepared to stick with it until someone offered an acceptable alternative.
Not to me or to any man, in his own self.
Old Bashti sat near, taking his customary heavy tithes out of each advance, his three old wives squatting humbly at his feet and by their mere presence giving confidence to Van Horn, who was elated by the stroke of business.
If I hadn't learned the trick, I'd have croaked along with him.
I am the intruder, the Goy who has come down into the neighbourhood to pick off a nice ripe cunt.